


Unearthly

by Lady_Therion



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, Character Study, F/M, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24222883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Therion/pseuds/Lady_Therion
Summary: Cassian sees what Nesta could become.
Relationships: Nesta Archeron/Cassian
Comments: 5
Kudos: 81





	Unearthly

**Author's Note:**

> Post-ACOFAS. 
> 
> Inspired by this anon prompt: “During her training, Nesta gets punched by another Illyrian and Cassian remembers that moment with the Hybern King.” 
> 
> I was in the middle of filling more Elriel prompts, but this one demanded my attention full stop. This is also my first attempt at combining Warrior!Nesta with Witch!Nesta. Also, listening to “The Bells” and “Dracarys” from the Game of Thrones soundtrack can lead to *feelings*.

Nesta never flinched.

But Cassian did. Each time Devlon knocked her on her ass, he choked off the urge to tear into the sparring ring and start spilling blood. It was a wretched instinct that took all his years of training to resist. It didn’t matter that his senses were screaming to protect her. Illyrians finished their fights. Even the ones they’re losing. To take up arms on Nesta’s behalf would be the ultimate dishonor. So Cassian stood aside and bit his tongue. 

Today’s weapon of choice was a staff. Devlon had wanted to try something different with Nesta today — something more complex than knives and daggers. Because against everyone’s expectations, she had mastered those far quicker than most. Not because she was more skilled, but because she was the most stubborn. 

Cassian had seen it himself: Night after night, long after the training sessions with the other girls, Nesta would set up her own targets, increasing the distance every time she hit dead center. She would try it in all kinds of weather: rain, sleet, fog. She had done this without prompting from either him or any of the other camp lords. Then she would throw. Over and over and over again, until she collapsed. Like Cassian, she was a perfectionist. She would not rest until the blade sunk into the wood with barely a sound.

Briefly, Cassian wondered who she imagined those targets to be.

One day, Devlon had asked Nesta to come forward for a demonstration. The gesture was a half-hearted one. While Devlon had yielded to Cassian’s commands to train the females, he had not done so with enthusiasm. In fact, many of his sessions were conducted with boredom. He hadn’t expected much from the girls. He hadn’t expected much from Nesta. 

That was his first mistake. 

Devlon’s demonstration was an exercise meant to subdue Nesta. Instead, she found an opening and nearly slit the camp lord’s throat. Had she been a centimeter more accurate, she would have been holding his head like a trophy. Clearly, she had been paying attention. Not just to him, but to other seasoned warriors and novices. Her mind was a steel trap: constantly recalibrating with every new piece of information. Perhaps this was what she was missing all along in Velaris: Something to challenge her. Something to quench that thirst for knowledge. She was an analytical fighter; a natural when it came to technique.

How he ached to train her himself. 

“ _ I’m  _ taking this seriously,” she told Devlon. “Are you?” 

Devlon had bared his teeth, but since that moment, had taken a  _ vested  _ interest in her. At first, it had put Cassian on edge. The ring was where Illyrians settled scores and if she offended him in any way, tradition would demand that she pay for it in blood and steel. And there could be little that Cassian could do without stirring up more dissent. 

“What are you?” 

It wasn’t the first time Devlon asked that question.  _ She is no more High Fae than we are.  _

“A nightmare,” Nesta said, finally. 

The slow grin that followed on his old instructor’s weathered features. It was an expression that would have liquified the bowels of lesser beings. Nesta only stared. 

“All right then, little witch,” said Devlon. “Show me what else you can do.” 

From then on, Devlon had made it his personal mission to break her. Or no, not break her. Test her. He wanted to map out the boundaries of her strength, her magic, her potential.  _ Potential _ . That had been the word that Hybern used when he saw Nesta’s raw and unfiltered power. Could Devlon have glimpsed this as well? Cassian wouldn’t be surprised. The old fool had a knack for spotting talent (and trouble). His actions toward Nesta were not unlike when he coldly threw Cassian and his brothers off the side of a mountain to see how they would fare. And look where each of them were now. 

Cassian wondered where this newfound attention would take Nesta. 

Something else was bothering him as well. So much so that he swallowed his pride and asked his old teacher about it. 

“Why a staff?”

Of all the weapons Devlon had her try first, it was still a mystery as to why he had chosen  _ that  _ one. The staff required balance and footwork and a keen understanding of reach and range. But surely the sword would also suffice in educating her in those areas. The bow, as well. The staff was also uncommon among the legions. Cassian didn’t know many soldiers who would use them outside of practice. 

Devlon, in typical fashion, refused to give the General-Commander a satisfactory answer. “The she-wolf is an unnatural creature. Unnatural creatures do not need conventional weapons.” Then he flashed a warning glare. “She is cunning, wrothful, and insolent. A deadly combination. Were I you, I would keep a close watch. Only time will tell if this will benefit the legions, or help tear them asunder.” 

As for Nesta herself? She seemed determined as ever to dodge his questions as well. 

Granted, at least _some_ elements of their dynamic had changed since he brought her to Windhaven. For one, she no longer looked at him as though he were garbage. She also no longer spat insults as though they were acid. Instead, she had....withdrawn deeply into herself. She was blank, vacant. Unreachable to him. In some ways, her distance was worse than the agitated furor she would subject him to in Velaris. It was a strange kind of resignation that made him long for the days when they were at each other’s throats. 

Nesta regarded him coolly when he found her in a clearing. She was going through her exercises. Getting a feel for the maneuvers as her lithe body glided through the motions. Cassian didn’t correct her — he knew that she would correct herself. 

“Enjoying yourself?” she asked.

“I only came to ask how you were.” 

Strike. Circle. Parry. Strike. Dodge. “You know how well I am.” It was a cold answer that left him colder still. How long were they going to go on without acknowledging what they were to one another? How long before they could both put a name to that tether between them? 

“The High Lord,” she said, pausing. Always,  _ the High Lord _ and never just  _ Rhysand. _ “He talks to you through your thoughts, does he not?” 

Cassian quirked a brow. “He does...” 

“Do you find his voice comforting?” 

“What does  _ that  _ have to do with—”? 

“There are voices that talk to me,” she said, quietly. The silence between them could fill a chasm. It was the first time that Nesta had mentioned anything about the gift—or the curse—the Cauldron gave her. “Old and ancient voices from some...deep abyss that tell me things. Terrible things. Sometimes it can be hard to tell their will apart from my own.” 

She thrust the staff forward again, and this time, her eyes glowed with that unearthly, silver-white fire. Fire that spread from her fingertips to the staff itself. Cassian took a step back, his wings flaring. The magic he felt was not at all like the Illyrian killing magic that his people possessed. This was something else. Something not from this world. 

And suddenly, he understood why Devlon had given Nesta a staff. 

The staff was not a weapon wielded by a soldier, but a weapon wielded by a shaman. A sorcerer; a conduit between this plane of existence and another. 

But the fire within Nesta died down as quickly as it came. The brightness of it here and gone, like that of a candle. “Damn,” she whispered. “Only a few seconds this time.” 

“This time?” 

She glanced at him. And suddenly, he was reminded of what Feyre had told him once. Of how the Cauldron seemed to reveal what had been lurking beneath her sister all along. A great and awful power. Poised to either remake the world or destroy it all together. Perhaps both. 

It was Death, Cassian realized, his bones freezing. He had been staring at Death: a beautiful face that gleamed without mercy. 

Nesta sighed. “I’ll do better.” Then she grinned, wickedly and without mirth. “I’ll show you all.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, my loves. I am lady-therion on tumblr.


End file.
